


Anything For You to Notice

by prettylittlementirosa



Series: a thrill to press my cheek to [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs in a Car, Butt Plugs, Feelings, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Secret Relationship, Shower Sex, Table Sex, heart boners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 00:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7384603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlementirosa/pseuds/prettylittlementirosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can feel Bucky smile against his skin. He’s not sure what’s causing his pulse to race: the fact that Steve is on the other side of the curtain and they could get caught at any moment or the fact that he knows what it feels like when he makes Bucky smile.</p>
<p>(Or 5 times Sam and Bucky almost get caught + 1 time they do the catching)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything For You to Notice

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I had so much fun writing 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight' that I couldn't stop myself from writing more in that 'verse. So, here *shoves this in your face* have a series!
> 
> This is technically a sequel but you don't have to have read the first one to follow this (it's probably more fun that way but you do you, man).
> 
> Title's from the song "Classic" by MKTO.
> 
> Warnings: some D/s undertones (similar to The Lion Sleeps Tonight). Tell me if there's anything else you think I should add that's not already in the tags.
> 
> Un-beta'd and unedited.
> 
> Ummm I can't think of anything else y'all need to know?
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr at [bisexualbcky](http://bisexualbcky.tumblr.com/). I might be posting smaller snippets from this 'verse over there. I haven't decided yet. But I will definitely be over there making fun of Seb Stan.

**[1]**

It turns out Bucky Barnes has a lot of hidden talents. He can bake an apple pie from scratch without even looking at a recipe and he’s surprisingly good at untangling tiny knots. He can solve a Rubik’s cube in under ten minutes and his poker face is unparalleled. 

But the thing Sam’s fondest of is Bucky’s lack of a gag reflex. It works out in Sam’s favor. A lot. Like right now. Bucky’s bent over the gear shift, head bobbing up and down in Sam’s lap like he can’t even feel Sam’s dick hitting the back of his throat. It’s fucking amazing and Sam’s close to coming. 

He’s got his fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair and he would be fucking up into Bucky’s mouth if the guy wasn’t using his super soldier strength to pin Sam’s hips down. Sam likes it like that though. He likes when Bucky takes control, likes it when he uses his enhanced abilities for Sam’s benefit.

Bucky does that thing where he swallows around Sam’s dick, and Sam has to tighten his grip. He’s so close, _just a few more seconds_ , when his cell phone starts ringing, loud and obnoxious in the quiet of the car, startling Sam out of the moment and causing Bucky to pause in his machinations. He pulls off and looks at Sam with his brows raised- _should I keep going or are you going to get that?_

Sam sighs and reaches into his pocket. The caller ID flashes Steve’s name and number and Sam groans. If it was anyone else he wouldn’t even consider answering but he told Steve they’d only be gone for twenty minutes; that was about forty-five minutes ago. He hadn’t known Bucky was going to slide his hand up his thigh while they were driving back from the grocery story.

Besides, they’re technically already home. Just because they haven’t made it inside yet doesn’t mean they’re _late_. 

Sam slides his thumb across the screen and brings the phone to his ear. “Hey, man.”

“Hey have you guys left yet?” Steve asks as Bucky takes the opportunity to lean back over and run his tongue along the vein on the underside of Sam’s cock.

Sam lets his head fall back against the headrest as he tries to suppress a moan. He’s going to kill Bucky. This is the exact opposite way you keep the fact that you’re fucking someone you probably shouldn’t be a secret.

Sam’s not entirely sure _why_ they’re keeping it a secret but they are and he’s okay with that. It’s easier than trying to explain what this even is to someone else when they haven’t had that conversation yet themselves. Luckily Steve is about as observant as a Fox news anchor. It’s actually embarrassing how oblivious he is. So oblivious that he didn’t even question why Bucky and Sam were sharing a room back at T’Challa who hasn’t said a word’s place.

It’s been three weeks since Sam, Steve, and Bucky stopped mooching off of his hospitality and got an apartment of their own in Wakanda. But apparently enhanced hearing wasn’t a part of Steve’s super-serum package because Bucky has been coming into Sam’s room and fucking him senseless pretty much every night. And Steve doesn’t have a clue.

“Yeah we’re on our way back,” Sam says into the phone. “Traffic’s just really bad. We’ll be home soon.”

Bucky takes all of Sam back into his mouth and starts bobbing his head again. Sam automatically grips a handful of Bucky’s hair with his free hand. He can feel the vibration on his cock from Bucky’s low moan; he likes when Sam plays with his hair.

“Do you think you could stop and pick up a bottle of wine?” Steve asks on the other end of the line. “T’Challa’s coming over for dinner. I think we should have something nicer to offer him than cheap whiskey.”

Bucky must be able to hear Steve because he snorts at that, creating the most unbelievable sucking sensation at the back of his throat, right where the tip of Sam’s dick is and Sam sees stars.

“Sure thing,” he grits out, then hangs up before Steve hears anything he’s not supposed to. “You’re the worst,” he says to Bucky, no heat behind it. “I hate you so much.”

Bucky hums in response and the sensation is enough to send Sam over the edge, no warning at all. He would feel bad except he learned pretty quickly that Bucky likes swallowing. Sam thinks it’s weird - seriously who actually _likes_ swallowing? - but he’s not complaining; it makes clean-up a lot easier.

Bucky sits up and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “I’m guessing boxed wine from the gas station isn’t good enough?” His voice is gravelly, sounds like he just woke up or, you know, had a dick pretty far down his throat. It’s the best thing Sam’s ever heard. He’s not even mad they’re going to lose their parking space to go back out and find a bottle of wine fit for Steve’s obviously massive crush on T’Challa. Totally worth it.

 

**[2]**

Sam used to think shower sex was stupid and pointless. There’s nothing sexy about washing sweat and grime off your body and it’s really awkward to try and deal with your pubes while someone is right there watching you. Besides, there’re only so many positions that are even an option if you don’t want to take the risk of slipping and falling on your face; and those positions aren’t exactly comfortable. Plus, showering with another person doesn’t actually save any water. The point is Sam’s never really been a big fan of shower sex.

Bucky might be changing everything Sam thought he knew about himself.

It doesn’t even make sense. There’s nothing special or exciting about this at all. They’re just two men standing in the spray of hot water in a tiny shower they share with their mutual best friend, who happens to be out running errands.

Bucky’s got his hand around both of them and he’s slowly working it up and down between them while Sam watches, forehead resting on Bucky’s shoulder where metal meets skin. The water’s beating down on Sam’s neck and everything feels perfect. He could stand under the water and watch Bucky slowly get them both off for hours.

“Fuck that feels good,” he says and Bucky kisses the side of his head. It’s so intimate, so sweet, Sam has to look at him, needs to see his face. He raises his head and finds Bucky looking back, soft smile splayed across his lips. Something in Sam’s stomach swoops and he’s about to lean in for a kiss when Bucky’s hand stops moving and his eyes refocus on the space over Sam’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks.

Bucky responds by bringing a finger to his lips. _Shh_.

There’s a quick knock at the door, followed by the squeak of the door opening, then Steve’s voice. “Sorry, I can’t hold it.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just buries his face in Sam’s neck so Sam clears his throat and says, “No problem, man. Just don’t flush.”

He can feel Bucky smile against his skin. He’s not sure what’s causing his pulse to race: the fact that Steve is on the other side of the curtain and they could get caught at any moment or the fact that he knows what it feels like when he makes Bucky smile.

“Hey do you know where Bucky is?” Steve asks, cutting into his thoughts. “He’s not in his room.”

“No idea,” Sam lies as Bucky rests his hands on Sam’s hips. “Maybe he went for a run.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The door squeaks again and then Sam hears it shut. Bucky’s shoulders start shaking with silent laughter.

“This is not funny, man,” Sam hisses. “How are we both going to get out of here without Steve noticing?”

Bucky squeezes Sam’s hips and kisses his neck, his version of an apology. It feels nice to have him pressed up against him and Sam’s dick is still very much interested in what was happening before they were interrupted. Unfortunately the water’s already starting to get cold and now that Steve’s back there’s no way they’re going to be able to finish. Sam sighs and shuts the water off.

Bucky hands him a towel and kisses him lightly on the cheek, then brushes his lips against Sam’s ear. “I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he whispers, then slips out the door without even grabbing a towel for himself. Sam would be concerned if Bucky wasn’t the stealthiest son of a bitch he’s ever met. Instead he just shakes his head and silently curses the fact that he’s probably never going to be able to take another shower without thinking about Bucky’s hand around him for the rest of his life.

 

**[3]**

Normally during the day they don’t do anything more involved than a quick grope in passing, especially after the shower incident. The risk of getting caught is too high with Steve not on a set schedule, so they save it for night, when the lights are turned off and they can pretend they’re both sound asleep in their own beds.

It’s sort of an unspoken rule between them so Sam’s not really sure how he ended up sitting at the kitchen table with Bucky in his lap, slowly sinking down onto his cock, at ten-thirty in the morning. There’s an open bottle of lube on the table and Sam has no idea how it even got there but he’s finding it really hard to care about anything other than the tight heat inside of Bucky and the way he’s biting his bottom lip as he lowers himself down.

Sam runs his hands up Bucky’s muscular back trying to distract himself from the urge to fuck up into him. Bucky’s muscles are firm and defined under Sam’s fingers, the raw power within them contained only by Bucky’s self-control. It shouldn’t turn Sam on as much as it does.

After what feels like hours Bucky finally bottoms out. Before he starts moving, he brings his hand up to cup Sam’s jaw and swipes his thumb across his bottom lip. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” he says, voice rough.

Before Sam can respond, Bucky starts moving his hips, testing if he’s ready. Gradually, his movements get bigger and bigger until he’s lifting himself up and dropping back down. He sets a relentless pace and Sam’s helpless to do anything but sit there and take it. Not that he’s complaining. It’s unreal how good it feels to be inside Bucky and the little whimpers that keep escaping from his mouth are like nothing Sam’s ever heard.

“Touch me,” Bucky commands and Sam obeys. It only takes a few pumps of his hand before Bucky’s spilling over, making a mess between them.

He stills in Sam’s lap, breath hard and ragged, and says, “Need a minute.”

Sam runs a hand up Bucky’s back, up his neck, and cups the base of his skull. “Take your time.”

It’s not often that Bucky’s the one that’s out of breath and over-sensitive and Sam’s going to let him enjoy every minute of.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky’s breathing to even out though and when it does he rests his forehead against Sam’s and mumbles, “Ready now.”

“You sure?”

Bucky responds with an _mmm_ and a kiss, slipping his tongue into Sam’s mouth, then pulling away to nip at his bottom lip. “Want you to fuck me til you come,” he says against Sam’s lips and that’s all the confirmation Sam needs to get his hands under Bucky’s thighs and lift him onto the table so he can start driving into him. Between the tight heat around his dick and the way Bucky’s digging his heals into Sam’s ass, encouraging him to thrust harder, it doesn’t take long at all for Sam to get there. He comes with a groan, sagging against Bucky on the kitchen table.

Underneath him Bucky starts laughing. “Steve’s gonna be so pissed.”

Sam musters every ounce of strength he can to lift himself up and look at Bucky. “Steve’s never gonna know about this.”

“You broke his favorite mug.” Bucky points to a pile of blue and yellow on the floor where Steve’s favorite Donald Duck mug lies broken in pieces. 

“Shit,” Sam says, sliding out of Bucky. Then, “Wait what do you mean _I_ broke it? You were a part of this too.”

Bucky sits up and hands Sam his shirt from where it was draped over the back of a chair. “Notice how nothing ever gets broken when I’m the one doing all the work.”

Sam rolls his eyes and tosses Bucky his pants. “Fuck you.”

“Oh I don’t know if I can go another round so soon.” Bucky smirks.

Sam wants to be annoyed but it’s kind of hard to feel any irritation when his body still feels all loose and tingly from his orgasm, not to mention there’s something ridiculously hot about the way Bucky’s smirking all smug and asshole-like while zipping up his pants. One day Sam’s going to have to sit down and do some major self-reflecting about the things that turn him on, but today is not that day. Right now, he’s more concerned about what to do about Steve’s favorite mug. 

He’s just finished putting all his clothes back on when the front door opens. He watches Steve walk through the door, looks down at the broken mug, then back up at Steve.

“Sam broke your Donald Duck mug,” Bucky says, pointing at the floor, and Sam is going to kill him.

Steve looks at Sam and, well, Sam doesn’t really have a choice now. He shrugs. “Sorry, man, it was an accident.”

Steve squats down to examine the damage and Sam does his very best to silently convey _What the hell?_ to Bucky over Steve’s head.

Bucky moves his eyes from Sam to the table where the open bottle of lube is still sitting, and back up to Sam again. 

Shit.

Sam raises his eyebrows, a silent plea for Bucky to do something, anything, but he’s not really sure what Bucky can even do right now. Steve’s already here.

He watches as Bucky slowly inches over to position himself in front of the lube so at least Steve won’t see it from his position on the floor. Unfortunately, if Steve stands up, it’ll still be in plain sight.

“What happened?” Steve asks, still crouched down.

“You know how careless Sam can be,” Bucky says, flippant, and Sam throws his hands up in the air. How is throwing him under the bus going to help this situation at all?

“Not really,” Steve says, standing up and facing Sam.

“I’ll buy you a new one, a better one,” Sam says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve tells him and starts to turn to Bucky and the table where the lube is still very obviously sitting.

Sam squeezes his shoulder, forcing him to stay facing him. “I insist. Just tell me what you want. You want another Donald Duck one? Or do you wanna maybe switch it up? Go crazy with the mugs? How about a collector’s set? I can get you a collector’s set. One with the entire duck family. Huey and Louie and Dewey. I can even throw in a Scrooge McDuck if you like. Oh and Daisy. Can’t forget Daisy. She’s gotta be there too.”

Steve is looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “It’s just a mug, Sam. It’s fine,” he says and turns around. Sam is about to start listing off every duck related fact he’s ever learned in his life but… it’s not necessary. The lube is gone and Bucky’s standing there like everything’s fine and Sam lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“We should clean this up,” Steve says to Bucky, presumably because he doesn’t think Sam is capable of taking care of such a task without causing harm to himself or someone else.

Sam doesn’t blame him.

“Don’t worry. I got it,” Bucky says and moves to get the broom and dustpan. 

Once Steve is in his room with the door safely shut, Sam gives Bucky a little shove. “You’re such an asshole,” he hisses.

Bucky makes a stern face and empties the dustpan into the garbage. “Hey, this is your mess I’m cleaning up, Wilson.”

“I will kill you.”

Bucky grins. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Seriously, fuck you.”

Bucky puts the broom and the dustpan back. “Not right now, darling,” he teases. “I need to shower. There’s come running down my thighs because someone forgot to use a condom.”

He kisses Sam’s shoulder as he walks by on his way to the bathroom. Sam tries really hard to be angry.

 

**[4]**

Sam is having a great day. It’s not often that he has the place to himself. Steve’s and Bucky’s work schedules make it so that Sam is almost never home alone. It’s not that he minds having them around. Steve’s his best friend and Bucky’s his… well, whatever Bucky is to him, Sam definitely likes having him around. It’s just that sometimes Sam wants to stretch all the way out on the couch and watch a movie by himself. So far today he’s made it through two of the original Star Wars without talking to another human being. It’s been great.

He’s thirty minutes into the final installment of the original trilogy when, out of nowhere, Bucky pops into view over the back of the couch.

Sam almost jumps out of his own skin. “Jesus christ.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says. He sounds tired. He _looks_ tired. “There’s pad thai in the kitchen.”

Before Sam can acknowledge him and say thanks for bringing dinner home, Bucky’s already gone from view. Sam would be concerned about the disappearing act and the general gloomy demeanor but he’s learned that, like everyone else, sometimes Bucky just has bad days and the best thing to do is just leave him alone and let him do his thing. He hears the shower turn on a couple seconds later anyway so he knows the guy’s fine.

Bucky doesn’t come back out until _Return of the Jedi_ is almost over and Sam’s long since finished the pad thai. He’s wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and an unzipped hoodie, and his hair’s already dry and pulled up into a bun. It’s Sam’s favorite look on him. He always looks so comfortable like this, so _normal_.

Bucky lifts Sam’s feet and sits down with them in his lap at the end of the couch. He doesn’t say anything, just sits in front of the tv, probably not even actually paying attention to it, with one hand loosely curled around Sam’s ankle, the other absent-mindedly playing with the hem of Sam’s pants.

Half an hour later when the credits start to roll, he lets his head fall to the side facing Sam. “How was your day?” he asks. He still sounds tired but there’s less of an edge to it now.

“ _My_ day was great,” Sam says. “How was _your_ day?”

“What’d you do?” Bucky asks, ignoring the question.

“This,” Sam says, spreading his arms out to illustrate. _This_ being vegging out on the couch doing nothing.

Bucky squeezes Sam’s foot. “Big day.”

Sam shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta take care of business around here.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh but doesn’t say anything more. He leans over and rests his head on Sam’s stomach. The credits finish rolling and silence fills the apartment.

“I think I’m gonna go back to school,” Bucky says quietly, almost shyly, like he’s not sure if he actually wants Sam to know.

But Sam does want to know, doesn’t want to scare Bucky into closing off so he just says, “Oh?”

Bucky scratches his nose with the back of his hand. “I got up early this morning and went to see a counselor at the college. She says I just gotta take some tests to make sure I can read and stuff and then I can start next semester.”

Briefly Sam wonders why Bucky’s never said anything about this before. It sounds like he’s been thinking about it for awhile. Part of him wishes Bucky would’ve told him so he could’ve gone with him but another part of him recognizes it’s probably something Bucky would rather do on his own. Sam can tell how uncomfortable Bucky is just saying it out loud.

“That’s really cool, man,” he says, encouraging but casual.

Bucky looks up at him, the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Big day,” he jokes.

It _is_ a big day, Sam thinks. A really big day. It’s a huge step forward on the Bucky Recovery Road. Sam’s so proud of him and he wishes there was a way he could convey that without making a big deal out of it.

He settles for pulling on Bucky’s arm until Bucky shifts up close enough for Sam to kiss. It’s a soft kiss; Sam would even describe it as _tender_ if it didn’t sound so corny. Except, well. Bucky did an amazing thing today and Sam’s feeling corny about it. So. He kisses Bucky tenderly with everything he’s got. It’s nice- soft clashes of lips, gentle touches, Bucky dragging his nose across Sam’s with a playful smile.

Bucky’s hovering over Sam, metal hand snuck up under his shirt and splayed across his ribs, when, suddenly, he pulls back and drops his head with a sigh. “Steve just pulled up.”

Sam knows they’re not ready to talk about whatever it is they’re doing yet but right now he really can’t be bothered to care if Steve walks in on them. He just wants a few more minutes of _this_ , of soft caresses and Bucky happy against his mouth.

He sighs and says, “We really need to get Steve laid.”

Bucky laughs and kisses his forehead, then gets up and slips into his own room.

Sam really wants to follow him.

 

**[5]**

Sam is learning all kinds of things about Bucky that he never knew. The kinds of things the history books didn’t teach him. Sure, Sam grew up reading about how Bucky was Steve’s right-hand-man, a sharp shooter (and he may have even been in the possession of a Bucky Bear at one point in time) but nowhere in the books did it say that the the guy was a born salesman- capable of talking anybody into giving him his way. It’s not a talent he showcases often, but when he does, it’s in full force.

It’s how Sam ended up agreeing to go to dinner at T’Challa’s with a butt plug lodged firmly up his ass. Bucky had batted those eyelashes and traced his tongue along the shell of Sam’s ear and whispered, “I promise it’ll feel so good”; and Sam was helpless to do anything but agree. It sounded like a good idea at the time.

At first it hadn’t been that big of a deal. The car ride on the way over was a bit of a test - every tiny pothole sending a spark of pleasure up his spine - but luckily Steve was going on and on about some new strategy him and T’Challa had worked out so no one was even paying Sam any attention. Even when they first sat down to dinner, Sam was fine.

Now Bucky’s looking at Sam with a devious glint in his eye and Sam’s nervous just from the anticipation. When they were seated across from each other, instead of next to one another, Sam thought that was it - the end of the butt-plug-in-public adventure - but from the look on Bucky’s face the adventure’s only just begun.

Sam’s lifting a forkful of eggplant to his mouth when he feels the first jolt of pleasure. It’s so unexpected he drops his fork completely, startling T’Challa and Steve out of whatever boring conversation they were undoubtedly having.

Sam clears his throat. “My bad,” he says and he would feel a little embarrassed about it - dropping the King’s silverware and having no explanation other than _my bad_ \- but honestly, the dude dresses up as a cat. Not to mention, he’s had Steve dopily smiling after him for months now and still hasn’t noticed. Royalty or not, the dude has no right to judge.

Steve and T’Challa return to their conversation and Sam glares at Bucky, wondering how he even managed to do anything from all the way across the table. That’s when he feels the second jolt of pleasure, this one more intense than the first and lasting slightly longer. Sam bites into his fist to suppress a moan and Bucky’s face is filled with smug satisfaction.

Before Sam can even regain his composure, the pleasure starts again. This time it’s prolonged enough for Sam to realize exactly what’s happening: the plug is vibrating inside of him and Bucky seems to be controlling it somehow. Sam’s about to make an embarrassing noise - one that would make everyone at the table very uncomfortable - when the vibrating stops.

He looks up at Bucky and finds that Bucky’s not even looking back. He’s taking a sip of wine and nodding along to something Steve’s saying like he’s actually paying attention to the conversation. 

Bucky glances at Sam then back to Steve and the pleasure starts again. This time the vibration is slower, less intense, and Sam’s able to swallow a moan. The longer it goes on though, the harder it becomes for Sam to control his breathing. He’s got a death grip on the edge of the table and his his vision is starting to go a little blurry.

“Mr. Wilson,” comes T’Challa’s voice from next to him. “Are you feeling alright?”

Just like that the vibration cuts off. Sam chances a glance at Bucky - who’s biting his lower lip to conceal a smile - before he answers. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. Long day at work, you know.”

His voice sounds strained. There’s no way they didn’t notice.

Steve’s brows are furrowed with worry. “Maybe we should call it an early night.”

“I’m fine,” Sam assures him. “You haven’t even finished eating.”

“If you’re getting sick,” Steve starts but Bucky cuts him off.

“I can take him home. I have to be up early tomorrow anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks.

“Yeah it’s fine,” Bucky says, pushing his chair away from the table. Sam follows suit.

T’Challa moves to stand. “I will walk you out.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky says. “Finish your dinner. We know the way.”

And with that Bucky and Sam are on their way back to an empty apartment. They don’t even make it ten minutes before they have to pull over to the side of the road so they can get their hands on each other.

It’s three in the morning by the time Bucky’s finally slipping out of Sam’s room and back into his own. Steve still hasn’t made it home.

 

 

**[+1]**

“Nelson Mandela’s first language,” Sam reads out. It’s one o’clock in the morning but he’s wide awake, sitting up in bed with a crossword puzzle in his lap.

Bucky’s lying in the opposite direction, head resting at the edge of the bed. He’s changed positions on the bed at least six times now. Neither of them are having a particularly great night mental health-wise so they’re bearing it together. The crossword puzzle is just a distraction, something to pass the time, but Sam knows Bucky actually likes doing them. It’s a good way to gauge what he actually knows and where the gaps are.

Bucky hums in thought. “Afrikaans?” he says. “Wait, no. It’s Zulu or that other one.”

“That other one?” Sam asks, unimpressed. He doesn’t mean it though. He’s actually extremely impressed with how knowledgable Bucky is. Though he supposes it’s not really that big of a stretch for Bucky to have knowledge about a world-famous politician and revolutionary, that having been his line of work for seventy years. Bucky never talks about the things he did for Hydra but it’s become pretty clear he remembers most, if not all of it.

“Yeah, starts with an X,” Bucky says, nudging Sam’s thigh with his foot.

“Xhosa,” Sam tells him and writes it in 55-across.

“Xhosa,” Bucky repeats. “What’s ne-”

He cuts off mid-question, head turned toward the door.

Automatically, Sam looks at the door to see what’s got his attention, then remembers _he_ was never injected with a super-serum and therefore staring at a closed door won’t help him hear what’s happening on the other side of it. “What is it?” he whispers.

Bucky looks back at him and shakes his head. “Nothing. What’s the next clue?”

Sam wouldn’t even need to hear the front door slam closed to know Bucky’s lying. He shoots Bucky his best _really?_ face.

Bucky shrugs. “It’s just Steve.”

Well obviously it’s just Steve. He’s the only other person who lives there. Except Steve doesn’t slam doors. Like ever. So obviously something’s up.

Bucky sits up and crawls toward Sam, tries to read the next clue, and Sam’s about to let it go when there’s another loud bang, this time like someone ran into the wall.

Bucky runs his hand down his face.

“Okay what the hell, man?” Sam says and stands up.

Bucky grabs his arm but Sam slips out of his grasp and goes to open the door. He’s not sure what he expects to find when he opens it but a shirtless Steve with his hand down T’Challa’s pants is not it.

Bucky comes up behind him. “I told you it was just Steve.”

Sam expects Steve, who has thankfully removed his hand from T’Challa’s pants, to look surprised to see Bucky come out of Sam’s room. Instead, he looks angry. “What happened to covering for me?” This is directed at Bucky.

“I tried but you’re not exactly being discrete,” Bucky gestures at T’Challa, who’s still standing against the wall Steve presumably pushed him up against.

“And you think fucking in the kitchen in the middle of the day is discrete?” Steve says and _what?_ How the hell does Steve know about that?

“You weren’t even home,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes.

“Kinda hard to miss the giant bottle of lube on the kitchen table.”

Bucky throws his hands up. “Oh my god, Steve, get over it!”

“You guys broke my mug!”

“Not on purpose!” Bucky says, incredulous, and everything Sam thought he knew about the last couple of months re-slots itself in his brain.

“That’s not the point,” Steve shoots back.

“Then what is the point, Steve?”

Sam looks at T’Challa, who’s just standing there, amused smile on his face. “You want a cup of coffee?” he asks and T’Challa nods.

They leave Steve and Bucky in the hallway fighting over who’s better at pretending the other one’s not getting laid and, honestly, Sam has never see them act more like brothers. It would be entertaining, almost endearing, if Sam wasn’t just now finding out that what he’s been doing with Bucky hasn’t been a secret, like _at all_ , and that he’s the only one who didn’t seem to know.

Later, he’ll make Bucky pay for all the times he pretended to be hiding from Steve just to put Sam in awkward positions, but right now he’s going to sit back with a cup of coffee and listen to Steve and Bucky bring up every embarrassing story they have on each other to use as ammo.

Yeah, Sam’s not mad at all anymore.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Steve's mug: https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41BpN4ewaZL._SY300_.jpg
> 
> i have no idea how schooling would work in wakanda and ive never read the comics but im guessing they probably dont explain it there anyway. so. im just pretending like it works the same way it does where i am.
> 
> YES the guys have jobs! they gotta pay their bills somehow (and im assuming the united states government has frozen all their accounts since theyre technically wanted men) and i do know what those jobs are but im not gonna say it right now cause i want to keep writing in this ‘verse and im not sure if itll come up organically or not so.. we'll see. : )
> 
> THANKS FOR READING!! I LOVE Y'ALL!


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